


Still Breathing (ON HOLD)

by burkiebeans



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stuttering, and he loves it, claude is not a hockey player, claude is really bilingual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-25 08:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burkiebeans/pseuds/burkiebeans
Summary: The veteran fic that no one asked for----Claude joined the Canadian Army after he graduated high school, after he was told he was never going to be a professional hockey player.





	1. Chapter 1

Claude joined the Canadian Army after he graduated high school, after he was told he was never going to be a professional hockey player. It hurt probably more than it should’ve, the way his parents sat him down with his coach and told him that the knee injury was too much, but hey, do you wanna join the armed forces like your dad?

He remembers the way he felt after, when he had to pack up his bag in a silent locker room while his teammates did their best to not stare. He drove himself home that day, locked himself in his room, and proceeded to curse the game of hockey. His parents pretended to not hear it.

Claude remembers his graduation, when he walked up to the podium and accepted his diploma while the headmaster announced that he was joining the army. His leg nearly gave out.

He figured that he could be an artillery soldier. He’d already spent his entire life chasing after a three-inch puck, so how hard could a field operation be through a scope? It was harder than he thought.

Claude retired from the Armed Forces after four years, after he was told that they had to amputate his leg. It hurt just the right amount, because of course with his luck, it wasn’t his priorly injured leg. 

\----

For his 14th birthday, Claude’s parents surprised him with season tickets to the Ottawa Senators. It only made sense that they did the same when he turned 24, but this time they gave him Philadelphia Flyers tickets.

He wasn’t sure what to do, he had only just moved to Philly after a rash decision to get _out _of Canada. Nothing was even unpacked yet; he was sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the middle of his flat. He did something he used to look forward to doing whenever he got the chance. He called them.__

__“Claude?” his mother said._ _

__“Maman?”_ _

__It was silent for a moment, until… “Did you get the present we sent in the mail?”_ _

__“Oui, maman. Mais... my birthday isn’t till January.”_ _

__“I know, we just. We wanted to give you something to help you get used to Philadelphia. We thought you’d use those more than some kitchenware.”_ _

__He couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped out, or the tears that started to escape. He heard her sigh on the other end and he pulled the phone away from his ear, scared of what she would say next._ _

__“We miss you, Claude.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__They let the air linger for a little longer before they said their goodbyes._ _

__\----_ _

__Claude remembers hearing about Sidney Crosby back in highschool, just before the accident. His dad played him a few clips then muttered something about him being ‘better than Gretzky.’ Claude thought that was a load of bullshit._ _

__Only, now that he’s in the Wells Fargo Center watching Crosby warm up on the other end of the ice, he sort of understands. This guy could move swifter than anyone he’d ever seen, albeit his knowledge was limited from only playing school league and clubs in his childhood. Still, it was a nice welcome back to the hockey world after he went overseas._ _

__Claude was a bit amazed his parents managed to snag him front row seats. He figured he’d been through enough shit the past few years that he could enjoy _something _. Even if it wasn’t the Senators.___ _

____After the ice cleared out and the zamboni went on, he got up and did his best to climb up the stairs. He still wasn’t the best at living with a prosthetic, but it was better than being in a wheelchair. His left knee aching from the weight, yet he was determined to find a fucking team store to get some cheetos colored shirt so he _didn’t _look like a douche throughout the game.___ _ _ _

______He found one, just past his section. Everything was orange or black and he thought if he spent more than 10 minutes in there he might have a seizure and _wouldn’t that just be dandy? _He grabbed the first shirt he found that was remotely near his small size, shrugged at the Briere printed across the back, and gave it to the lady at the counter.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ah, nice choice! I’m more of a Couturier kinda girl myself.” she laughed a little and all Claude could do was smile and nod. He shuffled through the Canadian dollars in his wallet until he reached his small stash of American ones. He really needed to go to a bank._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“T-thank you.” he mumbled, offering her a small token of gratitude before walking out the door with his face turning as red as his hair. He’d be damned if his stutter was coming back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He was almost positive the game was about to start, and that he should probably head down there now before he had to make a scene of hobbling down the stairs, but he locked himself in the bathroom stall instead. He changed quickly and judging by the silence he heard, he assumed the anthems were being sung so he had a few more minutes. He slipped out quickly and made it back to his seat just in time for puck drop._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The game was fast and dirty. By the end of the first period there had already been one fight and no goals and Claude was just now realizing the tension that was building in this arena. The Flyers were ruthless and the Penguins didn’t take no for an answer. He was glad he was close enough to see the true grit in their faces._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Claude remembered why he fell in love with the game._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________\----_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The final buzzer rang and everyone around him started getting up, putting hats on their kids, and taking their drinks with them. The Flyers won in fine Philadelphia fashion, not that he knew much about that other than what he read in between periods. He waited until it was almost empty before he attempted to leave. He got about halfway up the section before he had to stop and take a break. He hadn’t worn his prosthetic this long ever and it was starting to take a toll._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He sat down in the first seat and stretched it out onto the stairs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You better fuckin’ get it together there.” he muttered, massaging the muscle in his thigh until he felt well enough to make it to his car. By now the arena was fully cleared out and the only people he saw were the ones heading out to the bar next to it. He limped through, opting to take breaks every five minutes until he saw his black truck alone in the parking lot and breathed out in relief._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His mind told him to go home, his heart said to head back to Canada, but his stomach said that he needed to get some philly cheese steaks _now _. He turned the car on and carefully pulled out, heading back to the place he saw on the corner a few blocks down.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Surprisingly, it wasn’t as crowded as he thought it would be and the only sound he heard was the quiet hum of the tv playing post-game interviews when he walked in._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Ya come from the game?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Claude jumped a little at the voice, but nodded when he saw an older man walking out from the kitchen. He almost winced at how strong the accent was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Uh, y-yeah.” he said, glancing down at his shirt._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The guy looked at him confused but shrugged._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Not from around here?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Duh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Yeah I just moved here from… Ottawa.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Wow, Canada huh? Flyers fan now?” The guy gave a challenging look, as if to dare him to say anything bad about them. Claude just smiled a bit and nodded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Guess so…” He sat on the barstool and laced his fingers together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Good good. So what’s the deal?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Claude ordered his philly cheese steak and a water and the guy immediately yelled it back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“So what's your name Canada?” he said, leaning against his hand and staring at Claude._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Um, Claude. Claude Giroux.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Welcome to Philly. I’m Greg.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They chatted for awhile until other people started to file in, and then Greg had to move to take care of them. A girl who looked about 19 handed him his food a few minutes later._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Uh, can I have the check?” his accent was starting to get thicker as he got more tired. Greg gave him a smile and shook his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“It’s on me. Think of it as a welcome gift.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Claude’s eyes grew wide started to get his wallet out anyway, but a hand was placed in front of him and he stopped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Really. You’re good. Have a nice night Claude.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Claude stumbled out of his seat after saying “Thank you” and walked out of the door. It was still early in the season, but it was bitter cold. He pulled his jacket a little closer and got in his car._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Claude had never _really _desired to live in Philadelphia ever, but he was sure he might like it now.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He missed Sam, and Nate and Tom and Will and, oh God he missed Oliver, though because those were his brothers during those years and it was a greater bond than he’d ever had.

The only good part about being drunk, Claude thought, was that his stutter seemed to vanish and his thoughts were clouded. He doesn’t remember the heat, or the sand, or the shrapnel that he once knew so well. He’s pretty sure he can’t feel how bad his knee hurts in the prosthetic though, so that’s a bonus too.

 

“Good game, yeah?”

 

He looks to his right to see a pretty woman slide into the stool next to him. He nods and then she talks about how amazing the Flyers have been this year and how the Penguins suck. It doesn’t take long before he’s pressed into the side of the brick building and blurrily watching his breath in between kisses.

 

Sometimes he forgets he plays for the other team, too. 

 

It doesn’t take long before the girl realizes that he’s missing a limb, a very important limb and she gasps and pushes away from him. Claude whimpers at the lack of contact and listens as she walks away, her heels clicking against the concrete. It was cold and windy and it smelled like cigarette smoke and all that Claude wanted in that moment was his mom… but he was in Philadelphia wearing the stupid shirt he’d bought a couple games ago shivering as he braced against the wall to stand.

 

It hurt, but he managed to get back into the bar and throw a few dollars down before walking right back out and hailing a cab. He was too out of it to say the address, so he just handed his phone over and let the driver read it instead. He couldn't trust that he would be aware enough to speak english over french anyways. 

 

By the time he stumbled through the apartment and made it into bed, he was too tired to take off his prosthetic and just wiggled around until he couldn’t feel it anymore.

 

Claude woke up the next morning to the sun shining brightly through the windows and his radio alarm blasting.

 

“Fucking hell.” he muttered, slamming his hand on top of the radio and shifting until his face was buried deep in the pillows. He sighed contently. His headache was still raging, and he had an awful taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t see the light and it was as quiet as it would be for 10 am in downtown Philly.

 

Then his phone rang.

 

“Fuck this.”

 

He grabbed it and swiped it open without even looking at who it was.

 

“‘Ello?” he said gruffly.

 

“Claude? Where are you man?”

 

What? He glanced at the caller ID and _Sam_ _came down._ He coughed a little and winced because he completely forgot he was on leave right now and shitshitshit.

 

“Um. Sorry? I’m running a bit late.”

 

“Shit Claude this is  _ classic. _ You forgot?”

 

“No!” he yelled, then grimaced at his headache, “No my leg has just been acting up this morning but I’ll be there in 20.” He hung up without another word and threw his phone to the other side of the bed. At least the leg situation was good for  _ something _ . 

 

He let himself sulk for another minute before he got his sorry ass up and walked into the bathroom. He really, really shouldn’t have slept with the prosthetic on. He sat down on the toilet seat and slowly took it off, running his hand over the scar before pressing down gently. 

 

He reached over for his toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it so he could brush his teeth with one hand and massage his thigh with the other. After the part of getting ready he could do  _ without _ getting up was done, he grabbed the cleanest pair of prosthesis socks he could find and put them on quickly so he could go out.

 

“Damn, you look  _ terrible. _ ” Sam tilted his sunglasses down and stood up, pulling Claude into a hug.

 

“You’re not a beaut yourself, bud.” 

 

Claude sat down and stared at Sam, who was taking a sip from his water. The same Sam who he bunked with in training, who somehow manage to beat him in the 5 mile run, who wrapped his severed leg in his uniform jacket, who told him everything was going to be  _ okay _ about a million times in the helicopter. The same Sam who was asleep next to Claude when he woke up in the infantry hospital with nothing below his right knee and a dull pain in the pit of his stomach.

 

“What dude, finally noticing how hot I am?” Sam shook him out of his thoughts and Claude huffed out a laugh, taking this chance to look at the menu.

 

“No way in hell.” Claude muttered, glancing up one last time to see Sam smile wider.

 

The waitress came back around a few minutes later and they ordered, Sam getting a burger and Claude getting fish.

 

“So, how have you been holding up?” Sam said, looking concerned.

 

Claude gave him a look as if to say ‘you did not come down to philly so we could talk about my lack of a leg,’ but he shrugged anyways and looked down at his jeans.

 

“I mean, it’s… not great but it's what I have now. It hurts a little but that’s normal since it’s new and I was going to rehab back in Orleans so…” he trailed off, not knowing what else Sam wanted to know. He looked back up and he could already tell what he was about to say next.

 

“I’m so--”

 

“Nope. Don’t you dare finish that word with r-r-y because I swear if I hear it one more time i’m going to yell.”

 

Sam lightened up after that. 

 

“I know I just. I don’t know G. It’s not the same.”

 

“No shit, I was the only good thing about our battery.” Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

 

Claude cleared his throat. “Can we just, not talk about this? They made me get a  _ therapist  _ here in Philly and I actually have to see her in a few days after I go to my new rehab place.”

 

“Yeah yeah, sure thing.”

 

“So,” Claude said, smiling briefly at the waitress who brought out their food, “How’s Camille?”

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent talking about Sam’s family, and how their battery was doing wherever the hell in the world they were stationed, and even a little about hockey. Granted, Sam hadn’t been able to keep up with much other than his beloved Canadiens, but he did in fact know about Sidney Crosby. Claude decided that it might be a sin in Philly to like him, but he couldn’t resist how amazing the guy was.

 

They never really got around to talking about Claude, but he was fine with that. He missed Sam, and Nate and Tom and Will and, oh God he missed Oliver, though because those were his brothers during those years and it was a greater bond than he’d ever had.

 

“You know,” Sam said as he was getting into the uber to take him back to the airport, “I’m only a call away, or a plane ride if you wanna take me to a Flyers game.”

 

“Yeah, but Colonel would have your ass.” He laughed as Sam shut the door.

 

Claude knew, though.

 

\----

 

It was times like these when Claude wished the whole world was bilingual. His therapist was just staring at him, waiting for him to answer whatever question she’d asked. He wasn’t sure he could find the words in english. 

 

“Um…” 

 

She smiled at him pitifully and put her notebook down on the coffee table.

 

“Why don’t we talk about something else, yeah?”

 

Claude nodded his head. He felt like he was 10 years old again and joining the club hockey team, unsure and scared.

 

“How do you like Philadelphia so far?”

 

Claude wrung his hands together. “Uh, I haven’t d-done much really. J-just, unpacking and s-stuff like th-th-that.” 

 

“Movings pretty tough isn’t it?”

 

Claude shrugged. It’s not like he was forced to move to the states. 

 

“Have you thought about going to see a play? Or maybe going to see the Liberty Bell?”

 

“I-I went t-t-to a f-flyers game.”

 

“Yeah? I’m not a huge hockey fan since I’m from Washington, but, did you like it? I know it’s huge over here.”

 

Claude nodded.

 

“Did you ever play?” 

 

“Y-yeah. B-back home.”

 

They rest of the session was spent talking about hockey. The Flyers, the Sens, and, he even shared a little about Crosby. He was starting to wonder if he moved to the wrong Pennsylvania city, but he liked Philadelphia more. Liking  _ one  _ hockey player from the Penguins shouldn’t be too bad.

 

He shared that thought with Greg after the therapy session when he went to the cheese steak place again. Greg about passed out in his Flyers sweatshirt. So, broad street bullies it was. 


	3. Chapter 3

Claude remembered seeing a sledge hockey game when he was about 7, right before his mini-mite game. His mom had driven him and Isabelle about 30 minutes too early, just as their game was ending.

 

“Maman,  pourquoi sont-ils assis?” he asked.

 

His mom did her best to explain it at the time, Isabelle just watched infatuated and declared that she’d much rather be sitting than skating. Their mom winced and made them sit silently as the game ended.

 

He got the email on a Wednesday, the one that was headlined ‘Penguins Sled Hockey for Veterans.’ He didn’t open it until Friday evening.

 

“This seems like some--”   
  


“Claude!” his mom reprimanded through the phone. 

 

“What does it say?” Isabelle asked on the other line. She insisted on a 3 way call.

 

“Penguins are offering a sledge hockey game in November… yadda yadda yadda… It’s for disabled veterans… wait,” he muttered, “Who even sent me this? I have Flyers season tickets?”

 

“Oooooh, secret admirer?” his sister giggled. 

  
“Ta gueule.” 

 

“Claude!” 

 

His sister burst out laughing. 

 

“I think… my therapist sent me this.” His face growing in horror.

 

“I gotta go, but if you meet Sidney make sure you take a picture of his butt!” Isabelle hung up. 

 

“Isabelle!” Claude thought his mom was close to a breakdown at hearing what her kids were saying.

 

It was quiet as Claude scrolled through the details of the email. 

 

“I think you should go Claude.”

 

“Ouais?”

 

“Yes, your dad is calling, I’ll talk to you later?”

 

“Je t’aime.”

 

He hung up and stared at the ceiling. His dad hadn’t talked to him since the hospital, and he wasn’t sure if he missed it or not. He wasn’t around for most of his childhood, anyways.

 

\----

 

“Did you get the email?” Laura, his therapist, asked.

 

“Y-yes.”

 

“Well, do you think you’re going to look into it?”

 

Claude shrugged. “I d-d-don’t know. I-Its f-f-for the Penguins?”

 

She nodded. “Yeah, apparently the Flyers one is closer to February and I thought you might like one closer to now to get you acclimated to the move.”

 

“I’ll th-think about i-it.”

 

Claude didn't think about it until another email was forwarded to him, this time with a different headline, ‘Important Question About Sled Hockey’

 

_ What now? _ He thought.

 

‘Jessica Amsel,

 

I was wanting to inquire about the Veteran Sled Hockey-- is it only for American veterans, or are Canadian veterans welcome too? Thanks so much!

 

Laura Pierce’

 

\--------- ‘Laura Pierce,

The Sled Hockey is open to all veterans. I’m sure our Canadian players would love to be able to participate with Canadian veterans. To sign up, please email or call…’

 

Claude stopped reading. He thought he might throw up. 

 

\----

 

Claude was out of luck for things to do, as the Flyers were on a western road trip and he’d already eaten lunch at Greg’s restaurant and the bar didn’t really work out that well last time. 

 

_ Damn it _ , he might actually have to sign up for that shit. He pulled up gmail and scrolled down until he saw the first email. He skimmed it to find the signup page and was redirected to a gold, black, and white screen with boxes to fill out names and such. 

 

Maybe this would get Laura off his case.

 

The last box had a  _ last name, number,  _ heading.

 

**Giroux, 28**

 

It was his number up until midget hockey, and he was seriously wondering if they’d  _ actually _ give him a jersey. Maybe it was a shirt. Maybe it was a   _ joke. _

 

Nate called him the next day, apparently they were stationed in an undisclosed place in the Middle East. He wasn’t allowed to tell Claude exactly where it was; Claude remembered when he couldn’t tell his parents. 

 

“Sam was tellin’ us you got Flyers tickets.” His voice was muffled and he could hear a TV playing in the background. It must be night time there.

 

“Yeah--”

 

“Damn, shoulda moved to Pittsburgh.”

 

“What… why?” Claude mumbled. 

  
“Um, have you seen Malkin? I’d die for his shot.” 

 

Claude snorted, “I saw them play a couple weeks ago, in Philly. I thought Crosby was good.”

 

“Yeah, dude, he’s amazing. Y’know my brother met him once, at his camp. Our mom sent him up to stay in Halifax with our Aunt for a weekend. Kid had a blast, Sid’s apparently real nice.”

 

Claude hummed. “I think… I might play a game of sledge hockey with them.”

 

It was silent, until, “Woah! Send some pictures will ya?” Then there was some other shouts and a “Shit, gotta go, Sergeant Major’s calling. Talk to you later G.” He hung up. 

 

Claude missed that. He’d never thought he’d say that he missed that. 

 

He realized he needed a job, or a hobby in the least.

 

\----

 

Claude’s absence of a University degree hurt his chances of getting a good job, not that he needed or wanted one anyway. The Royal Regiment still gave him salary and he still had insurance money from the accident. He just… got bored after two weeks of going to hockey games then heading to Greg’s. Thankfully, when he told Greg about his problem, he agreed to hire him. 

 

“You planning on heading to the game tomorrow?” Claude was wiping down a table when Greg walked past him, tossing him another towel. Claude completely forgot the Flyers were back in town tomorrow.

 

“Y-yeah. Think so.” 

 

Greg nodded and went behind the counter. They were getting ready to close, so everyone was just putting up chairs and cleaning.

 

“They’re playing the Stars, right?”

 

“Yeah, should be… you know I uh…” Claude wasn’t sure why he got this sudden burst of confidence to share his story with his only ‘friend’, if you could call him that, in Philly. Greg hummed.

 

“You know, back in Canada, I was in the army?”

 

“Huh, wouldn’t have guessed that. You like it?”

 

Claude nodded. He did like it, even if he despised it at first.

 

“I, uh, I l-lost my leg in…” his voice died down and Greg’s eyes softened. Claude hadn’t worn shorts in almost a year. He refused to, because he didn’t want the stares, he didn’t want the concerned looks, he didn’t want the ‘i’m sorrys’. He didn’t ask for it. 

 

“Well son, I’m proud of  you.”

 

_ What???  _ Claude hadn’t heard that in response before. Claude just stared at him, his eyenrows furrowing as he shifted his weight to his other leg. 

 

“Thank y-y-you.” 

 

Greg gave him a sad smile and gave him a pat on the back before walking into the kitchen. The clanking of pots and pans he heard a few seconds later made him smile. It reminded him of home.

 

\----

 

“...Welcome back to home ice… YOUR PHILADELPHIA FLYERS!”

 

Claude settled into his seat, putting his water bottle down and leaning back to watch warm-ups. He’d finally learned most of the players, Danny Briere was still his favorite, but Wayne Simmonds and Jakub Voracek were close seconds. He chuckled a bit when Luke Schenn hit a puck up into the glass in front of him, causing the group of kids on his right to gasp and start cheering. He missed being that excited for hockey.

 

Warm ups were always the best part of games. Its when there was no stress and the players got to be  _ themselves _ . 

 

“Excuse me, sir. May hold up my sign for Mr. Read?” Claude looked down to the little girl, no older than 6 or 7, holding up a pink and orange sign in the space between his seat and the boards. She had a shy smile and Claude really couldn’t say no. He just nodded and waved her over to stand in front of him. The whole time, whenever Matt skated past, she wouldn’t cheer loudly. He even flipped a few pucks up in front of her and it was probably Claude's new favorite thing ever; he secretly hoped her family was a season ticket holder so this would happen more often. He almost took out his phone to take a picture for his sister, but he thought that might be a little strange.

 

When warm-ups were winding down, Matt came over again and threw a puck over the glass. Claude caught it and handed it to her while she jumped around.

  
“Thank you thank you  _ thank you _ !” she squealed, waving it around  and running back up the stairs to her parents. 

 

Claude doesn’t remember ever being that happy. Not when he drove to Toronto and saw the Cup with his team. Not when he skated out for the first time after his surgery. Not when he fell to the ice, throwing his gloves off and tackling his goalie when he won the championship. 

 

Kids seemed to have a sixth sense of happiness that adults just didn’t have. 


	4. Chapter 4

Claude always loved Halloween as a kid. It let him be something he wasn’t, moreover, it gave him free candy and he was a sucker for smarties. He surely wasn’t expecting much for his small apartment in downtown Philly. He definitely wasn’t expecting the hoards of kids that showed up in costumes ranging from a fire fighter to a witch to deadpool. Thankfully, he was loaded with candy because Isabelle insisted he have a candy bucket.

 

He was also thankful he hadn’t drunken himself into a blackout. 

 

Most of the night was spent binge watching scary movies, up until his leg was too sore to get up and he was too tired to keep his eyes open. He slept on the couch.

 

Claude wasn’t expecting his phone to ding a billion times to wake him up, but alas, it did. He saw a few emails, some calls, and a text. He clicked on the text from an unknown number first. His heart about stopped when he read the  _ Congratulations, you have been chosen to participate in a sled hockey game with the Pittsburgh Penguins organization on November 11! _

 

He turned his phone right off, turned around, and went the hell back to bed. His problems could wait until the afternoon, when he’d have to get up for work.

 

\----

 

“Sled hockey, huh?” Greg hadn’t looked up from where he was putting a sandwich together. 

 

“Yeah, uh, on Remembrance Day.” Greg gave him a sideways glance at that, then Claude remembered he was in the states. “Veterans Day.”

 

“Ah, well, you ought to do it. Get you out of the shop for a bit.”

 

Claude was really hoping he’d say the opposite of that. Something like, “No, you  _ have  _ to work that day. We’re short-staffed.” But he didn’t and Claude was left drying off plates and utensils while the other workers took orders. Claude did that his first day, but he didn’t make it an hour with his stutter. Not even when he closed his eyes and pretended he was talking to his mom.

 

“Alright,” he said, “I guess I’ll go.”

 

Greg gave him a smile and placed the plate on the counter, ringing the bell with it.

 

\----

 

Claude slumped down on the couch and stared daggers at Laura, who was taking a sip of her coffee.

 

“Well good afternoon, Claude. You got the email, yes?” A smile played at her lips

 

Claude nodded. 

 

“Congratulations! I know it’s not the Flyers, but I think this will be a good opportunity for you!”

 

“I-I guess.”

 

“Alright, so I have a few things I’d like to talk about today. Starting with the speech impediment.”

  
Claude rolled his eyes. “I d-d-don’t h-have a sp-speech imped-d-diment. It’s j-just a st-stutter.”

 

Laura hummed and Claude sank farther into the couch. He half wished it would just swallow him whole so he could get out of this mess.

 

“Okay, so you’re stutter. Does it happen all the time?”

 

Claude shook his head no.

 

“So when does it happen then?”

 

Claude shrugged. But, he knew when it happened. It happened after he got the honorable discharge from the Army. It happened when he woke up with bruises scattering his arms and cuts on his face and no leg, but Sam was asleep next to him. It happened when his sister burst into the room and started sobbing.

 

It happened when he closed himself off to everyone, when he’d be forced to go to the grocery store on the corner just so he could survive because ramen wasn’t cutting it. It happened when he boarded the plane had to talk to the flight attendant, when he was on the phone with his apartment complex, when he handed his season ticket to the scanner at the Wells Fargo Center, when he met Greg for the first time.

 

It happened when he was scared. Or nervous. Or uncomfortable.

 

But he’d never admit that.

 

“Are you open to trying medications? Or would you like to take a more natural route first.”

 

“Wh-whichever one i-is quicker.” 

 

She went through the notions, telling him everything he needed to know about both options, then telling him he had time to decide.

 

“So next thing, I understand it’s coming up on the two year anniversary of the accident.”

 

“I-I won’t b-b-break.”

 

“What?”

 

“J-just s-say it. I l-lost m-m-my leg.”

 

She sighed and took a sip of coffee.

 

“Okay, so it’s almost been two years since they amputated you’re leg. How do you feel about it?”

 

“O-okay.”

 

“What are your plans for that day?”

 

Last year, on November 10th, Claude drunk himself into oblivion. The year before, obviously, he was stuck in a hospital bed off the coast of some European country hoping to hell that the morphine would kick in. This year he planned on spending the day in Pittsburgh, going to a Pens game at night,  _ and then _ drinking copious amounts of whiskey because he knew that’d get the job done.

 

And the next day he’d go to play sledge hockey. 

 

If he was lucky enough, he’d meet Sidney Crosby.

 

Maybe he’d finally acknowledge that feeling he’d locked up for the past ten years telling him that  _ he likes boys. _

 

He didn’t plan on the latter ever happening.

 

“P-probably g-g-go to P-Pitts-b-burgh.”

 

\----

 

The Flyers had another home series of games, and Claude planned on pushing back his problems by going to all of them. They were playing the Canucks, then the Bruins, then the Yotes, and lastly the Habs. Claude had to remember to send some pictures from the Habs game to Sam, just to make him jealous. 

 

Unfortunately, he realized on his first night back, that the little girl he saw a few nights ago was not there. In her place, however, were two twin boys, Canucks fans, more specifically, Sedin’s fans. They were probably around 9, holding up a giant sign for them and sporting some toothless grins with blue jerseys and hats. Claude wasn’t sure what on earth they were doing on the Flyers side, but, he let them be. 

 

Apparently, the twins had seats a few rows back. Every time anyone would even come near the glass, they’d cheer. It was cute, even if it resulted in a OT Flyers loss. Still got the point, though.

 

The rest of the week went seemingly like this: wake up, go to Greg’s, work, go back home, change, go to the game, go home, curse his leg, go to bed; repeat. 

 

It was pretty good, up until it was November 9th and he had yet to talk to Sam or Nate, or even his mom about the whole ordeal. Isabelle called, and he vaguely mentioned the fact that he was going to drive up to Pittsburgh. Other than that, he left his thoughts to himself.

 

Claude also realized that he had no Penguins merchandise to wear. He thought it might be a little rude to show up in a Flyers shirt, so he drove around the city looking for something that even resembled the yellow and black they wore.

 

It took him almost three hours, but he walked out of the thrift store, clutching his Mario Lemieux jersey in victory. It was literally the only Penguins thing he could find in the whole Philadelphia area.

 

When he got back to his apartment, he packed his bags and double checked that his hotel was booked correctly, before setting off on his 5 hour drive that would get him in a little before midnight. 

 

The first hour or so was fine. He didn’t take any stops, just sang his heart out to the country songs on the radio. 

  
The second hour, he stopped at the gas station. He contemplated going in, but, those things were sketchy as hell and it was dark out, so he was going to wait it out until he got dinner.

 

He stopped, a little over midway through the trip, at a roadside diner. It was fairly quiet, only filled with two or three drunken couples and a group of teenagers huddled in a corner slurping milkshakes and eating fries. Claude missed those days.

 

He decided to call Sam, and hoped that he’d be awake. Knowing what he knew, that they were in the Middle East, he figured it had to be early morning where they were. Remembering how those early mornings usually were, he figured they’d either be scouting the area through a drone or eating like pigs over a hockey game from the night before.

 

Either way, they were awake and Claude had no business calling him, but, he did. It picked up after the third ring.

 

“Hey, Claude? Quoi de neuf?”

 

“Um… Je conduis à Pittsburgh.”

 

“Pourquoi?”

 

He switched back to english, “To play sledge hockey.”

 

Sam was quiet for a moment before he went into a spiel about how he had to hear from  _ Nate _ not himself, that he was going to be meeting  _ Sidney Fucking Crosby _ and playing  _ sledge hockey _ with him, and  _ c'est quoi ce bordel, Claude. _

 

Claude winced and took a bite of his pasta.

 

“Désolé.” he mumbled.

 

“It’s fine, but Claude?”

 

“Ouais?”

 

“Try to have some fuckin’ fun while your at it, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“And… I miss you, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Talk to you tomorrow, don’t do anything stupid.” He hung up at that, leaving Claude to run a hand through his tangled hair. 

 

He got back on the road after he finished eating, and didn’t stop until he saw the roadside saying Pittsburgh and even then, he only pulled over for a minute to take a picture of it. His navigation directed him towards the hotel, which was only about ten minutes from the rink.

 

He stuttered his way through his name at the front desk, handing over his id and credit card silently, then nodding and giving a smile when they gave him his hotel key. His leg started cramping just before he got to the hotel, so he waited for the elevator. His room was conveniently close to the elevator, so as soon as he shut the door and took off his prosthetic, he dropped into bed and fell asleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 10th was a shit day, and everyone who knew Claude, knew it.

_ Claude spit out the sand that had gathered in his teeth and raised the bandana up further over his mouth. It was well over 40 degrees, even with the wind softly blowing. He peered through the eyepiece again, seeing the same thing he’d been seeing for the past two hours: two young kids, no older than 14, holding guns half their size, guarding a doorway to a gated off building.  _

 

_ He took a sip of water from his canteen then wiped some sweat from his brow. His thick dark green uniform wasn’t helping him much. _

 

_ Claude didn’t flinch when he finally saw something. A series of trucks, moving quickly through the gates. _

 

_ “Fuckin’ bastards.” he muttered, nudging Tom who was asleep next to Sam. He opened his eyes slowly, then sat up fully when he saw Claude’s expression. He knocked Sam in the knee who shot up, clutching his helmet quickly. _

 

_ “I got eyes on ‘em. Call down to tech and see if we can pursue.” _

 

_ Tom nodded and mumbled quick sentences in french down to the rest of the battery downstairs. Sam sat next to him and looked through the eyepiece, but he only saw the back ends of the trucks now parked in the dirt. _

 

_ “Been waiting all day, G.” _

 

_ Claude nodded in agreement. _

 

_ “We gotta wait until sunset. S’a ‘bout a kilometer down the way. They’re gonna go in from above with the UAV and see if they can get some footage.” Tom said. _

 

_ - _

 

_ It was darker, the sun only beginning to fall, but the temperature was changing rapidly. They had Will and Dave with them now. Claude was up in front, peering around corners until they had a clear view of the building a couple hundred meters ahead.  _

 

_ “Get my six.” he whispered to Sam, who was trailing behind him. _

 

_ Claude walked quickly, keeping his eyes up. He had one job and that’s all that his mind was set on. _

 

_ “Fuck! Claude!” _

 

_ He didn’t know what happened next. He heard an explosion, a small one and a searing pain made its way through his body. He couldn’t move or think and the yells from his squad were fading in and out and… _

 

_ Claude didn’t know if he was in heaven or hell, or somewhere in between. He couldn’t see or hear and it felt like his body wasn’t his anymore. He forced his eyes open, only for a split second because Sam yelled at him to “Open your damn eyes Claude or so help me God!” _

 

_ It was blurry and red flashed through his vision. He smelt smoke and someone was carrying him. Everything was numb. _

 

_ Claude kind of liked it. _

 

\----

 

He woke up mid-scream, thrashing around the hotel bed with a mix of sweat and tears pouring down his face. He clutched the sheets and held them tightly, trying to feel for something real, something to remind him he was alive.

 

It felt like hours before he could open his eyes again. It was still dark out, incredibly early even for his army trained body. His senses had shut down and he didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to see anything or hear anyone or feel his clothes that felt like they were suffocating him. He didn’t want the hotel room smell or the taste of alcohol that he desired so badly before.

 

November 10th was a shit day, and everyone who knew Claude, knew it.

 

He heard the phone ring at some point. He wasn’t sure how long it had been ringing, but when he answered it all he heard was “For fucks sake Claude don’t you ever do that again.” in a shaky voice. He grunted in response.

 

“Claude I swear.” It was Sam.

 

“ _ What? _ ” he said gruffly, putting every ounce of venom into his voice that he could. The phone buzzed a bit more and Claude narrowed his eyes down at the picture of Sam. “Answer the damn facetime.” He did, and Sam’s mug popped up on the screen, uniform, field cap, and all.

 

“Claude I’m gonna say this once and I have three minutes before sergeant major  _ literally kills me _ , so listen ok?”

 

Claude vaguely nodded, eyes still lidded and a frown still apparent.

 

“Okay. Two years ago, I thought I lost you. You’re my brother and I don’t care if you think that this life sucks, but it doesn’t and you need to remember that. You have a great sister who called me this morning because you didn’t answer your phone and Nate flipped out and-- just  _ breathe.” _

 

Claude was getting worked up over the words and Sam could tell. He was never good with words. He sucked in a big breath of air, keeping the tears at bay before nodding.

 

“O-okay.” 

 

Sam frowned and tipped his hat up a little higher.

 

“Do me a solid and live a little. I love you and I’ll see you in a few months okay?”

 

Claude nodded and Sam gave him a weak smile before hanging up. God, why couldn’t he just date Sam? They already sounded like they were together.

 

He punched the pillow next to him before sitting up and putting his sleeve and prosthetic on, if only for a second. 

 

Claude forgot that hotels don’t have shower seats, which was what he used in the shower at home. It was awkward to sit down at first, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

 

He grumbled and plugged the tub so he could take a bath, instead. He didn’t  _ really _ want to; he was used to not having too many showers from the army. But, he could already see his new doctor and physical therapist scolding him for not taking the time to clean his stump.

 

He slowly stripped down, eventually sitting down on the side of the bathtub to take off his leg. It wasn’t a pretty one, or very realistic. Just a bionic robot-looking limb. He didn’t want anything fancy. He lowered himself in after he turned off the water and just sunk down, letting the warmth relax him. 

 

Sometimes, when he wasn’t thinking very hard, he could feel his toes. They obviously weren’t there, but, he would feel them wiggling. Sometimes, like right now, he would feel a shooting pain up his whole leg. He gasped and looked down, but there was nothing there anymore.

 

His therapist told him about phantom limb, and how it was completely normal after an amputation. It was real pain from something no longer there. Just after the surgery was the worst time. He’d send himself spiraling into these attacks and end up passing out. They got better over the years, but now he just felt like complete shit. 

 

He tried moving his other leg over, to convince himself that it was all fake. But once he got over the fact that it wasn’t helping, he just grimaced and ducked his head under the water, holding his breath for as long as possible.

 

\----

 

Claude grunted as he looked up at the stadium. He’d driven himself there, after wolfing down some food from a bar nearby and texting his mom because she called 12 times while he was in the bath. It had a huge glass front and the stanley cup printed down the side. He’d never admit that he liked the huge yellow and black posters down the side in Philly, but he figured he could say it here. 

 

He especially liked the Sidney one, 87 fit him.

 

Everyone around him was dressed the same, in jeans and a jersey and some had a hat, but they were all die-hard Pens fans and it made Claude feel like a faker.

 

He kinda was, though.

 

He gave the guy his ticket, nodding when he smiled and said, “Enjoy the game!” His seats obviously weren’t like his at Wells Fargo, they were all the way near the top, but it gave him a hell of a good view. He bought a beer and found his seat, watching warmups silently while the fans around him talked non-stop. 

 

He kinda got lost in the game. It makes sense that it had been his reliever for so long that it helped him forget his life for awhile, even when he was 24. By the time it was the third period, he forgot about the phantom limb and focused on his tipsy Crosby thoughts. Most of them were along the lines of  _ Criss, that gino was a beauty. _

 

He thought it might be one of the only games he’s ever watched where he didn’t actually look at the scoreboard. His eyes were on the ice during the game and on the draught beer selection in between periods. 

 

The game was… fun, he thought. It was weird seeing Malkin, and Letang, and Fleury instead of his usual Simmonds, Voracek, and Mason. He didn’t have a problem cheering for them anyways. He wasn’t completely sure how he made it back to the hotel in one piece, or how he managed to turn the bath on, but he did. His mind wasn’t in the right place, but at least it remembered that it's easier to bathe at night than in the morning. 

 

He was too drunk to put his leg back on when he got out, so he slipped on some shorts and pulled himself to the carpet next to his bed. He grabbed the pillow from the floor and tucked it under his head, completely ignoring everything his mom told him about sleeping on the ground. He wasn’t awake enough to particularly care.

 

\----

 

“Damn it damn it damn it damn it!” Claude slammed his hand on his phone and jumped up from his spot on the ground. He looked at the time and-- he was gonna be late. He was gonna be  _ so late. _ Laura had already tried to call him once, and Isabelle left a voicemail and even fucking Nate called to remind him that  _ if you see Geno make sure to tell him that he’s fucking beautiful in Russian! _ God he was so screwed. 

 

He crawled over to his bag and pulled out some clothes, then went over to the bathroom to where his prosthetic was leaned up against the toilet. Between his pounding headache and the vomit threatening to rise up in his throat, he wasn’t sure how he pulled his sock on and locked his leg in, but he did. Practice makes perfect, apparently. He braced himself on the counter and pulled himself up. 

 

It took him a record 3 minutes to get ready, and only 5 to get into his car after. Getting to the rink was fairly easy, he just wasn’t sure where to go when he got there. There weren’t any signs or people to direct him. He parked in the close to empty lot and got out.

 

He decided the box office might be able to tell him where to go. He staggered up there, smiling a little when the young girl on the inside waved.

 

“Hi! How may I help you?” she said cheerily. She was clearly a morning person.

“Um, I-I’m here f-f-for the sledge h-hockey?”

 

“Oh! Just walk around the building to the back entrance! There will be some people waiting!” She pointed to the left side of the building and Claude smiled and walked off. 

 

There was, in fact, a welcoming party (it seemed like) of people near the back entrance. They ushered him in after asking his name, and an older man led him to the locker room.

 

“Canadian army?” he asked, nodding up to Claude's hat which hat a hunter green Canadian flag on it.

 

“Y-yeah. F-fifth artillery re-regiment.”

 

“Well son, I’m not Canadian, but thank you for your service.”

 

“Th-thanks.”

 

The locker room was almost full of veterans and their families. Claude winced when he saw the small kids running around and the wives helping their husbands. He regretted not bringing anyone.

 

“Hey! How’re you?” Claude jumped, then hesitantly shook the mans hand who was next to him.

 

“F-fine. Et toi?” He winced at the french, but lightened up when the guy laughed a bit.

 

“Good, good. What’s your name?”

 

“Claude… Giroux.”

 

“Ah #28. Let me grab your jersey, your stall is over there I think.” He pointed across the room, in between a man and his wife, then a woman with two kids. 

 

He walked over silently, glancing around the room at everyone. He assumed they were all American vets, and that he was going to be the only Canadian one. The guy came back quickly, a sled in one hand and the yellow jersey in the other.

 

“Here’s your jersey and… have you ever played sled hockey before?”

 

Claude shook his head.

  
“Well that’s quite alright! You need help putting on the gear?” Claude genuinely smiled at that, and shook his head again.

 

“Nah, I’ve got a couple years of experience in the hockey field.”

 

He glanced up at his stall, finding most of his normal hockey equipment hung up. He shrugged and put everything on like he was used to. It was nostalgic, his first time putting on his gear after he hung up his skates. He wasn’t quite sure what to feel when he wrestled the jersey over his head, looking down at the penguins logo on the front. It was what could’ve been.

 

A few more people came in, figuring out how to put on hockey pads and such. Claude wasn’t quite sure how the sled part was gonna go down, but he figured reckoned no one else here did, either. While everyone else was finishing up, he took it upon himself to head out to the ice. He stood up and lugged his sled down the hall. Everything was lined with Stanley Cup this, Mario Lemieux that, oh Sidney Crosby here. It was impressive, the way the franchise never stopped building.

 

He wished that he had the chance to get drafted, he’d even take playing in the ECHL if it meant he had a  _ team. _ He had brothers, which was kind of the same.

 

“You play?” Claude whipped around from where he was staring at the ice.  _ Holy fuck. _

 

“Y-y-yeah.”

 

“What position?”

 

“M-m-mostly c-center.”

 

“Good choice man, I’m Sid, by the way.”

 

_ Tabarnak, Sidney Fucking Crosby is holding out his hand _ .

 

Claude slowly raised his hand to shake Sidney’s. He thought he might faint.

 

“C-Claude. Giroux.”

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“H-Hearst.”

 

“Oh! You’re the Canadian one! Thought I heard that accent.”  _ Oh goodie, they were talking about him.  _ “I’m glad I got to meet you!”

 

“Th-thanks.”

 

Claude heard commotion from down the hall, and soon enough the group of veterans came out. They immediately flocked to Sid, smiling brightly and talking quickly. Claude wasn’t sure what to do, so he just stood to the side and waited for everyone to hit the ice.

 

At some point, people started to get situated in the sleds, so Claude followed. He somehow figured out how to strap himself in without messing with his legs too much. It was awkward at first, when he tried to get out on the ice, but once he got the hang of moving with his sticks, he was fine. Someone spilt a few pucks out and Claude handled one, glancing around to see the other people in groups, doing the same.

 

“Wanna pass?”

 

Claude looked over at Sidney, who looked a little overgrown in his sled.

 

“Sure.”

 

Sidney was full of laughs. He rarely took a breath to stop talking and asking questions. Claude thought it was nice. He probably wasn’t acting very different than he would around quote, unquote “normal people.” 

 

The same guy from before gathered them all up in a circle, talking about the plan and what was going to happen. Claude pretty much zoned out; he knew how hockey was played. How different could sledge hockey be?

 

“I’d also, like to introduce some more guests… boys!” 

 

Claude glanced up, and gaped at Evgeni, Marc, and Kris who were coming out too. Everyone was hitting their sticks on the ice with huge grins across their face. They introduced themselves, then everyone broke out, getting in position to play.

 

It was maybe, the most fun Claude has had in two years. He was a little shy at first, but after a little while he began to chirp a little and make jokes. He actually laughed…  _ laughed. _ And it was real. But, because Claude was Claude, all good things came to an end in his world. 

 

He dropped a stick in his lap and clutched his right leg. It was burning and it felt distorted and cramped and, this was really not the time. He tried to play through it, but it got worse. He skated over to the door and slid his way out, smiling sheepishly at the concerned looks from the families watching.

 

“Are you okay?” someone asked.

 

“Y-yes. Just need some water.”

 

He unstrapped himself and stood up with help from the boards-- it wouldn’t be the first time. He hobbled into the hallway, where hopefully, no one would see him. His slid down the wall, closing his eyes and praying the pain away. 

 

“Hey! Are you-- what’s wrong?”

 

Claude opened one eye to see,  _ of course it was Sidney Crosby. _

 

“Oh, i-it’s just my l-leg.”

 

“Oh…” he frowned, “Do you want me to see if the trainers can look at it?”

 

“No it’s,” Claude huffed out a laugh, “It’s not really real.” He pulled up the bottom of his jeans a little, revealing his prosthetic. Sidney looked a little guilty then.

 

“Sorry… I didn’t--”

 

“Y-you’re fine, dude. It happens. You can go b-back out there, y’know.”

 

Sidney shrugged and went to sit next to him.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’d be fun for you to sit out here alone.” He gave him a smile.

 

“Y-you never know…” Claude trailed off, taking a peek at Sidney who had a look of panic.

 

“ _ Kidding. _ ” Claude mumbled, cracking a smile. “You can stay if you want, I wouldn’t wanna keep the captain away from everyone, though.”

 

“Ah, they’ve got Flower. He’ll distract them.” he took a breath and pulled his knees up a little. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

“Not really. They call it phantom limb or some shit like that. I just feel the leg that’s not there anymore, it… doesn’t always hurt. Sometimes I feel my toes twitching or something.” 

 

Sidney nodded and looked down to where Claude’s prosthetic was peeking out. 

 

“Is it… oh god I’m gonna sound like an asshole.” 

 

Claude laughed and shook his head. “Go ahead, most people just stare.”

 

“Is it hard? To like, live with it?”

 

Claude thought about it. The easy answer would be,  _ no, you get used to it _ . But that was bullshit.

 

“Yeah. It’s not… great. It hurts sometimes and there’s a lot I can’t do, but there’s more I can so I guess that’s what I have to tell myself.”

 

“I’m--”

 

“Nope! I knew what I was getting into when I enlisted. There are risks, I took them, I  _ definitely _ learned from them.”

  
“Still…”

 

“Thanks, but I’m really okay with it.”

 

Sidney nodded and started to stand up. “Wanna go back out there?” 

 

“I think I’ll just watch, but I’ll come.”

 

Sid held out his hand and helped Claude up, leading the way back out to the ice. Claude watched as Sid strapped in and went back out, quickly rejoining the game. It was interesting and Claude had a good time. He ended up taking pictures with the guys, sending them to the guys overseas as soon as he could. The responses he got were priceless.

 

Though, he was more concerned with Isabelle's, “ _ Tell me you gave him my number” _

 

To which he replied, “Fuck no.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

_ Mr. Giroux, it’s Jessica Amsel, from the Pittsburgh Penguins organization. I hope it is okay that I am texting you-- I just wanted to thank you for coming to the sled hockey game. I know the team all had a great time with you there. We also wanted to know if you wanted to be apart of a ceremonial puck drop at a game soon? Thanks so much! _

 

Okay, so, not quite what Claude was expecting. He’d been staring at the text for almost two days now, and hadn’t told anyone. It was only when he heard quiet humming that he looked up and saw Gianna walking in. Her thick dark brown hair was twisted up into a bun and Claude could see the beginning of grease stains on her apron. 

 

Besides Greg, Gianna was the only other friend he’d made in Philly. She was hard headed when he first met her, but they soon warmed up to each other. It's not like they had a choice, really. They worked alongside each other for most of their shifts, as Claude had to support himself financially and Gianna needed to save up for college. 

 

She was a junior, in a dump of a high school (or at least that’s how she described it.) “Two stories filled with kids, and no one wants to be there, Claude. Don’t you remember high school? It sucks and everyone does weed and there’s at least 5 people selling beer everyday and I’m just ready to leave.” she had told him that with a sigh on their break one day. Claude nodded, genuinely listening, but, high school was a blur for him. 

 

“I think… it’ll be okay. Just keep working hard and get good grades.” he had to be the adult. She rolled her eyes and chipped some black paint off her fingernails. 

 

“That’s what they all say.” 

 

It was safe to say she didn’t live in the best part of town. Her small Toyota, which look like it came straight out of the 90’s, was constantly getting beat up and her clothes were well worn and she always told the roughest stories about her family and town and-- Claude wanted to help. He really did, but, he wasn’t sure how when he could barely get himself off the ground. 

 

The humming died down when they both stopped and stared at eachother, Claude’s phone still illuminating the dim room. She moved first, grabbing a soda from the freezer then sacking down on the couch. 

 

“How’s school going?” Claude finally asked. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He was still 24 and she was still 17 going on 30. 

 

“Same old same old.” She popped this lid and took a big gulp. “You got anything better to ask?”

 

He shrugged. “You dyed your hair.”

 

“Yeah. It was getting boring so I decided to add a blue streak. I think I did pretty good for a first try.”

 

“Definitely better than I would have.”

 

She went on her phone after that, and Claude could make a “Kids these days” chirp, but he was also just on his phone trying to figure out if his life was real, so she got a get out of jail free card.

 

\----

 

_                                                                                                                          Hi.  This is Jessica? _

 

Claude held his breath when he saw the speech bubble pop up on the bottom of his screen. He was half expecting the conversation to just disappear before his eyes.

 

_ Yeah! I hope I’ve got the right number? _

 

_                                                                                                                          Yes _

 

_ Great! Have you thought any about the puck drop?  _

 

He started to think about writing out ‘im not a charity case’, but he didn’t. Maybe they were really trying to do something nice. 

 

_                                                                                                                         May i ask why? _

 

The speech bubble popped up, went away, popped up again, went away again, popped up and

 

_ You talked with Sidney, yes? _

 

Claude let out a chuckle and sunk further into his couch.

 

_                                                                                                                        Sure _

 

_ He enjoyed having you there. We all did. It’s always great to have those kind of days when hockey is second priority. Sidney is part of the deciding factor in some ceremonial puck drops, and he asked that you do one.  _

 

Claude momentarily, just for a split, blissful second, forgot that the Penguins were in  _ Pittsburgh _ . Not Philadelphia. And that made for a slight problem as that 5 hour drive wasn’t great on his legs.

 

_                                                                                                                       I don’t think this will work, sorry _

 

_                                                                                                                      I live in Philadelphia _

 

_ We can take care of travel, hotel, and food. All you have to do is show up.  _

 

Claude pulled his legs up and started tapping impatiently. Like what the fuck is his life? Why was the Penguins staff texting him? Is this what he gets for skipping the game tonight? His breath hitched when his phone rang. He looked down and it was… a call. He hesitated for a second because this totally could just be a prank. A sick prank. But he pulled out and answered, slowly bringing the phone up to his ear.

 

“H-hello?”

 

“Mr. Giroux?”

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi. Is this an okay time?”

 

Claude nodded, before remembering that the woman on the other end couldn’t see him. “S-so. I uh. I-I’m not sure w-w-why this is s-so important?”

 

He heard a sigh. “Mr. Giroux--”

  
“Claude.” he corrected.

 

“Claude, you're not obligated to say yes. We just thought we should offer.”

 

“B-but… th-then why?”

 

“You should ask Sidney that, he is the one who asked.”

 

Claude snorted, “Y-yeah okay.” The laugh that escaped his lips was on the verge of self-depreciating. 

 

“I’m serious. If you would like to talk to Sidney about it, you can give me a time to call you back and I will. Just, think about the offer, okay?”

 

“O-okay.”

 

\----

 

Claude sat in the bathroom of the rehabilitation center. He felt no inclination to change into his shorts. But, he was hogging the one person bathroom so he changed quickly and didn’t glance in the mirror on his way out.

 

There wasn’t a good reason to feel insecure or out of place, here. Everyone had their problems. There were  _ a lot _ of amputees that came, most of them he’d made eye contact with at some point or another. He just shuffled into his doctor's office, meekly smiling when he stood up and walked over to where he was pushing himself up on a bed. 

 

“How’s the leg feeling, Claude?”

  
“Uh, i-it’s still a l-little uncomfortable.”

 

His doctor frowned and started to poke around at visible skin on his thigh. 

 

“May I?” he asked. Claude nodded, starting to shift around to make it more comfortable. 

 

The doctor pressed the button on the side to release the suction of air then slowly started to wiggle the prosthetic off. He had a below the knee amputation, which meant only half of his leg was missing. It still had the same effect, though. He closed his eyes as he felt fingers working around his gel liner and sock. He didn’t care for the work that much. 

 

“Is it too tight or loose?”

 

“Loose, maybe?”

 

“Have you tried different gels? Or having more?”

 

Claude shook his head. He watched the doctor push himself back on the chair and scoot towards the closet in the back. He shuffled around before he appeared with a sealed package.

 

“Here, let’s try these.”

 

He pulled out the gel liner and sock and Claude watched as he smoothed all the air bubbles out. Claude put the prosthetic on himself, pushing his leg down a few times before standing up. He took a few steps to the door.

 

“Better?”

 

“I g-g-guess we’ll see.”

 

His doctor guided him to the walking track and evaluated as he took a few steps, getting used to the new feeling. He had him do some other things, like stairs and the ladder drills that he  _ hated _ … mostly because they reminded him of hockey conditioning. 

 

When he signed out, he was told he could stop coming as frequently now. “I mean, come if you think something is wrong, or if it still hurts. But, you’ve progressed Claude.” His doctor slapped him gently on the back and gave him a smile before walking off to another patient, a little girl who was happily showing off her new bright pink and glittery art sleeve. Claude grinned. And, if anyone saw him take a quick, quick glance at the sleeve selection on the way out, then, so be it.

 

\----

 

The next time Jessica called, Claude was in the middle of his shift. He winced and mouthed at Gianna, who flipped him off when no one was looking. He chuckled and ran into the the break room, hoping Greg would be too busy in the kitchen to notice.

 

“Ah, h-hello?” he asked tentatively. 

 

“Hi!” it was a chirpy, but very male voice. Claude froze.

 

“I-I th-th-think you’ve g-got the wrong nu-number.” He about hung up, but then

 

“Oh… is this Claude Giroux.”

 

Claude looked down confused.

 

“Y-yes, who i-is this?”

 

“Sidney, we met at sledge hockey.”

 

His eyes widened and he had to cover the phone when he went into a fit of surprised coughs. 

 

“Oh.”

 

“Have you thought about the puck drop any?”

 

“A bit, why d-d-do you w-want me t-to do i-it th-though?”

 

“Euh, well, you seemed like a nice guy, very deserving of it. I really liked talking to you at the event and I wanted you to be able to experience more.”

 

Claude sucked in a breath. This was way over his head.

 

“Okay. I… I’ll do it.”

 

“Really? Great! I’ll have Jessica to send over all the details! Can’t wait to see you again, man!”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Alright, talk to you later. Bye Claude.”

 

Claude mumbled some sort of ‘goodbye’ and hung up, cursing himself for accepting it. He was brought out of it by one of the other workers glaring at him as they walked by, a tray of drinks in his hand. He winced and got back out there, grabbing a tray of food and walking it to a table, as if he hadn’t just talked to the captain of the Penguins. 

 

\----

 

The next Flyers game he went to was against the Devils. It wasn’t all that great of a game either. The Devils managed to find their way to the back of the net, wrapping around or passing or doing  _ something _ to get the puck sliding past Brian and into the goal. It didn’t help that they got a breakaway at the very end, either. Or that there was an empty net before them so gently hitting the puck dead center was convenient. 

 

His mom called after, wondering if he’d been planning on coming home for Christmas. “I guess, maman. I don’t have anything else to do.” and, if he was going to do something on American Thanksgiving. “Probably not, we don’t celebrate it.”

 

He knew his mom was hoping he’d say yes to that last question. That he’d found some group of amazing friends that opened their arms to him and invited him for dinner. He didn’t want to tell her that the city just wasn’t like that, so, he didn’t. 

 

Instead, he drove himself to a bar so he could eat some real food-- not stadium food. It was loud, but not too crowded. There were two couples in the booth next to him and a guy sitting alone at the table in front of him, sipping on a drink that was giving Claude a headache just looking at it.

 

He downed a beer quickly and ate a burger even quicker. He let himself take in the surroundings a bit more. He didn’t get out much anymore. And… he wanted a boyfriend but he didn’t want that  _ commitment _ and he could already see the disappointment that would cloud his father's eyes even more than it already does now. 

 

Though, he was positive Isabelle had always wanted a gay best friend, if she was still anything like her old high school self. He wasn’t the best at giving fashion advice and his gaydar was mediocre at best, but he still had a pit in his heart that could be succumbed by some strong arms and pretty eyes.

 

He didn’t let himself think too much into that has he left signed his name on the bill and walked out into the cold weather. He leaned against the building, taking a shaky breath of cold air. The guy on the other end of him was smoking and Claude thought that was gross, but he then remembered that it took him losing his leg to stop chewing dip because that kept him somewhat sane in the desert.

 

He pushed himself from the wall and walked to his car. The drive home was silent, except for the thoughts in his head that kept telling him to be real, as if he was hiding behind his army persona. (Which, he was, but he’d never admit that.)

 

By the time he’d taken off his prosthetic and made it safely into bed, he was finally ready to sleep even if he had to wake up again in 5 hours. 


	7. Chapter 7

Claude wasn’t sure how he found himself standing in front of the Penguins PR office, fidgeting in a suit, but here he was. It was a short plane ride, a little more than an hour and they gave him first class too. More space for his leg and more food. He took that as a huge win.

 

Isabelle had called him before the flight, told him to “Drop the Flyers sorry ass and move to Pittsburgh.” Claude huffed a laugh at that, then said, “I like orange more than yellow.”

 

His mom called too, just to check in and say she’d be watching the game tomorrow. (He wasn’t sure how. Ottawa most definitely didn’t get the Flyers games.)

 

He breathed out and held a hand up to the door, knocking once hesitantly, then two more times a bit harder. The door swung open and there was a group of men, a woman, and Sidney.

“Welcome, Claude! Good to have you here! Come in, come in.” the older man ushered him in and Claude smiled. He was a little bit out of his comfort zone as they all started to say their names. Sidney was last of course, and by no means needed an introduction.

 

He sat down at the chair offered and waved slightly. “Claude.” was all he said. 

 

“Yes, well, we’re glad you’re here for the puck drop tomorrow night against the Lightning.” 

 

Claude nodded.

 

“And,” Sidney added, drawing the attention of everyone in the small conference room, “I wanted to show you around the arena a bit. Let you watch practice.” He had a goofy smile and a glint in his eye. It warmed Claude to the core and he didn’t even have to try.

 

“S-sounds good.”

 

They talked about a few more things, just formalities and what he should do tomorrow and such. They asked him a few more questions, about his time in service. He didn’t really like talking about it, but he figured that him getting this opportunity was greater than any mental blocks he’d have to face in the next bit. He just hoped he’d be okay doing it. Laura was pretty adamant. 

 

Sidney whisked him off to the hallway, talking nonstop. 

 

“I didn’t know you lived in Philly.” he said after a breath. Claude winced.

 

“Yeah I-I moved there a-a-after Canada. I j-just couldn’t st-stay there.”

 

Sid shrugged. “I get that. You like the Flyers then?” He said in mock disgust, a smile turning his lips upward.

 

“I guess.” Claude laughed, “I mean I-I really like the Sens, g-growing up in-in Ottawa.”

 

Sidney hummed. “Guess we better get you fitted for some Pens gear then.”

 

“Guess so.” he echoed.

 

They turned into the familiar locker room. It was empty now, stalls perfectly lined up with practice jerseys and gear. 

 

“Well, guess you’ve already seen this before. But you can look around if you want.”

 

Claude nodded, walking around near all the stalls. It reminded him of playing as a teenager. He wasn’t like, the next Sidney Crosby or anything, but he definitely would have been drafted. No doubt about that. 

 

He stopped at one locker. It read Ian Cole at the top and Claude’s fingers brushed over the small 28 next to it. 

 

“Colesy? You a fan?” Sidney blurted from behind him.

 

Claude jumped then winced at the weight on his knee. “Crisse.” he muttered, placing a hand over his heart and turning around to face Sidney.

 

“Uh, sorry.” He coughed, “Didn’t mean to scare you. That was stupid of me.”

 

“I-It’s fine.”

 

Sidney saddled up next to him, shoulder to shoulder staring at Ian Cole’s jersey. 

 

“So, you a fan?” he pointed forward and looked at Claude.

 

“28 was my n-number. When I played.”

 

“What made you choose it?” he asked, still looking sincerely.

 

“I didn’t. Coach… coach gave it to m-me.”

 

Sidney hummed and they stood in silence for awhile, Claude just reminiscing and Sid wandering what the hell was going through his mind.

 

“I uh. Do you wanna go to the ice?” Sidney chimed. 

 

Claude nodded and followed him to the tunnel. He immediately felt the rush of the ice, the cool air and the fresh smell. It never failed to take him back a few years. When he wasn’t face down in sand for hours at a time. They walked around near the benches and Claude sat down, leaning over to the boards and resting his head. Sidney sat next to him. 

 

“I m-miss this.” Claude whispered. 

 

“It’s a beautiful thing.”

 

Claude nodded and pushed his thumb into his thigh, trying to get the persistent ache to subside.  _ It wasn’t even real _ he thought. It never was. 

 

Ever since he went to his last appointment and they switched gels, the actual cuff of his prosthetic didn’t hurt. His sleeves fit well and the plastic had managed to suction perfectly around it. It was nice to not have to worry about it. 

 

“I was wondering,” Sidney started, still looking at the ice when Claude moved to face him, “Did you want to go to dinner with me tonight? After practice?”

 

“Um…” Claude wasn’t sure what to say. Was it rude to decline on a living legend?

 

“Sorry sorry, I know it’s weird. But I thought I could show you around Pittsburgh, while you’re here. Kris bailed on me, anyways.”

 

Claude shrugged. That couldn’t do any harm.

 

“Sure. Are you sure that’s-that’s okay?”

 

“Positive.”

 

\----

 

Practice was fun to watch from the bench. A lot of guys came up to him and said hey, a few talked to him about hockey during their water break.

 

He sat out there when the zamboni came out and that gave him the brilliant idea. There had to be a rink somewhere near him, right? His driving skills weren’t too bad and the guys dared him to drive the zamboni one night, so he knew he wasn’t  _ awful. _ He definitely needed to brush up on his skills but working at a rink might actually be fun for him.

 

Maybe.

 

He was cut out of his thoughts when Sidney came back out, waving him over.

 

Sidney’s hair smelled like coconut and it was still wet. Claude watched him start the ignition and back out. 

 

“So, I was thinking we could eat dinner at an Italian restaurant? It’s near downtown but it’s fairly secluded so I think we’ll be okay.”

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“Cool cool.”

 

They drove in silence until they pulled up to the place. Sidney payed for valet and Claude got out. He’s not sure he brought enough money for this. 

 

It was dimly lit and each table had a candle in the middle. Claude was just thankful his mom made him wear a suit. He would’ve been screwed if he had nothing else.

 

“You good?” Sidney asked after a second of looking over the menu.

 

Claude coughed. “Yeah, yeah sorry. Just a little overwhelmed is all.” he pinched out a smile and was pretty sure Sidney saw right through it. He pitched a small smile back. 

 

The waiter came back after a few minutes and Claude ordered some pasta dish. He didn’t understand most of the description, but it sounded fairly good. 

 

“You didn’t have to say yes, you know.” Claude glanced up and frowned at Sidney’s face. He looked somewhere between mad and disappointed. 

 

“W-what?”

 

“Like. I can tell you’re not having a good time. You could have said no to my offer.” he jabbed. 

 

_ Way to fuck it up, Claude. _

 

“No…I…. That-that’s n-not true. I-I just. I w-w-want to know w-why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why me?” Claude whispered. He was just some Canadian Vet who has some PTSD and no leg. There’s gotta be more than one of him.

 

“What… what do you mean?” Sidney’s eyes were soft. 

 

“W-why did y-you choose me?”

 

“I don't…” Sidney looked at his lap and cursed under his breath. “Can we, uh. Can we have this conversation after dinner? I… you can come to my house.”

 

Claude nodded. He was confused and just wanted an answer, but nothing ever came easy.

 

“Okay.”

 

Dinner was quiet and awkward and Claude would give anything to just go home and curl up on the sofa. Sidney payed and Claude thanked him quietly. This was so foreign and unreal to him and he was  _ so confused. _ It didn’t make any sense. 

 

Sidney obviously didn’t live in the middle of the city. His house--mansion-- was a bit outside of the city. It was gated and had a garden outside and it was  _ huge. _

 

“Coffee?” Sidney asked when he got inside. 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

He nodded and led him into the living room. There were a few framed jerseys, pictures with the Stanley Cup, then a huge flat screen with surround sound. Pays off to be the poster boy for the NHL.

 

Claude sat down on the puffy L-shaped couch. It was white and modern, just like the majority of the furniture he could see. He gritted his teeth and tried to move his leg up, then realized Sidney probably wouldn’t  _ like _ his feet on the couch, so he just dropped it with a thud. Sidney came back and sat down across from him in a recliner. 

 

“Do you mind if… if I uh…” Claude motioned towards his leg with a pitiful face, trying to ask if he could take the prosthetic off.

 

“Um. Sure.” Sidney wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to, but he figured it had to do with the leg.

 

Claude moved his leg awkwardly and pressed the button to unhinge the prosthetic. He looked up at Sidney who looked intrigued, but shot him a fond smile. He went back to wiggling the thing off his stub and sighed happily when he could place it on the ground beside him.

 

“Thanks. It’s uh, not… not the most comfortable thing in the world but it does.”

 

Sidney hummed and leaned back, not directly looking at Claude anymore, but at the wall behind him.

 

“So. What did y-you want to talk to me about? Why did you pick me?”

 

“I… Can I tell you something?” Sidney was praying that this guy-- this guy he literally didn’t even know-- wouldn’t sell him out to some reporter. He was taking a quite literal shot in the dark.

 

Claude nodded slowly.

 

“This is gonna sound stupid. Like, dumber than anything.”

 

Claude wanted to just say, “Try me.” Sidney was 25 and probably smarter than Claude would ever be. 

 

“I like you. And--”

 

“You  _ what? _ ” Claude piped. What the actual fuck? 

 

Sidney sighed and Claude could see him move in on himself. 

 

“Like. I don't know. You’re pretty cool guy and really funny and you actually treated me fairly normal.”

 

Claude was still trying to get past the face that this guy was gay. There was literally a 1000000000 to 1 ratio of that happening. 

 

“But…?” Claude whispered.

 

“The team knows. They don’t care. Do you?”

 

Claude shook his head quickly. 

 

“I… no. I can’t really… care?”  _ Listen i’m gay too. _

 

“Okay. Well I can drive you back to your hotel if you want. Pretend this didn’t just happen.”

 

“ _ No. _ ” Claude cut it. “I-I. Can I stay?”

 

Sidney’s serious face let up a little bit and the smallest smile peeked out.

 

“Really?”

 

“Ouais.”


End file.
